


The Sleeping Barry

by Miko_of_Midnight



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7110328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko_of_Midnight/pseuds/Miko_of_Midnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Or the Cursed Child and The Captured Guard)</p><p>A mysterious warlock cursed the prince on the day he was born, that his sixteenth birthday would not pass without tragedy striking the castle. This warlock's revenge would kill the future of the kingdom and punish the king. He didn't count on the son of a kingsguard, he wasn't part of the story.</p><p>Olivarry Week 2016- Day #1: Fairytale AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sleeping Barry

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt stumped me a bit at first (a few did) I didn’t want to do a clichéd word for word adaption of a fairytale (although there is absolutely nothing wrong with them, because I love to read them sometimes). I just wanted to try and do a twist on an old fairy tale. Like with the hero/heroine being smart and loving and yet still falling prey to the evils of the world without being a damsel in distress (though, again, I actually kind of love some damsel in distress fic). So here you go! It’s loosely based on Sleeping Beauty (if you couldn’t tell by the title)- mostly just the curse and spindle part.
> 
> Without further ado, here is my contribution to Olivarry week 2016 Day 1: Fairytale AU. Not beta read (as per usual, since I don’t have one), so all spelling and grammar is my mistake and proofread was superficial at best.

The first day that Oliver can remember is the day his best friend, who also happened to be his prince, was cursed.

He couldn’t have been more than four. He had been one of the privileged few that got to visit the newly born prince, due to his father’s position. He remembered when he first peered down at the baby wrapped in cloths. And then he seemed to sense his gaze and lifted big round eyes up to the older boy. Oliver would swear that the baby had smiled at him.

And then he had heard a commotion outside of the royal chamber doors. His father shoved Oliver behind him, standing in front of his son and the cradle. Oliver didn’t even notice until his father told the story later to his mother, that he had mimicked his father’s protective stance in front of the baby that had just reached out a hand to him.

The heavy wood doors were blasted open by more force than Oliver had ever seen in his life. The intruder must be stronger than any person that he had ever met! An unassuming frankly wimpy and tall skinny man had walked swinging himself around as if he owned the room, which Oliver knew for a fact he did not. He had an unassuming face, one that could easily blend into a crowd. Oliver, however, would never forget it, because of what happened next.

“Aw, such a joyful day in all the land and yet was unaware until a little birdie told me. I’m hurt, Henry, I really am. You didn’t even bother informing your oldest friend of your impending fatherhood. How wretched of you really. Now, let me see this little bundle of joy!”

Oliver’s father made no move to attack and instead kept his defensive position in front of the children while the king kept his position by the weakened queen shielding her from the intruder.

“Now is that any way to treat someone who has travelled so far for this honour?” There was a blur of movement and Oliver gasped as his father was now laying on the floor knocked out and the tall man was standing in front of him. Oliver had no weapon and he didn’t know how to handle the threat, he just knew that he couldn’t let this man near the fragile boy behind him.

The man let out a huff of annoyance. And suddenly Oliver was on the other side of the room tied to a chair in fabric. He blinked a couple times his brain trying to catch up. When he got his bearings, his eyes went to the cradle that the man was now standing over, peering in.

“Hmmm, well aren’t you the double of your father?” the man questioned softly leaning over the cradle.

“You have seen him, now leave,” the King’s voice stated in a voice Oliver had never heard him use before.

“Well now, what sort of guest would I be if I didn’t bring a gift as a welcome for the little princeling?” The baby let out a few cries, and the king reaching into the bassinet for his son. Suddenly he was back by the bed and his wife and the new prince was in the stranger’s arms.

“Eobard!” King Henry yelped out.

“Shhhhh,” shushed the man as he brought his eyes up from the child to meet those of the father. “Wouldn’t want to scare the brat, now would you?” King Henry’s eyes flashed helplessly between his son and the man holding his delicate life in his hands.

“Now, I’m not one to take out such an innocent life. At least, not at the moment.” He let his words hang in the air, his eyes meeting and holding those of the king.

Oliver struggled newly against his bonds. Why is no one doing anything!? He knew that the baby couldn’t protect himself. Why didn’t the adults know that too- why weren’t they saving him!? He suddenly stopped as wind suddenly appeared and swirled angrily around him a storm seeming to appear from out of nowhere and inside the room!

“He looks so like you, Henry,” Oliver heard the man murmur quietly as if he didn’t want anyone to hear. He turned his eyes from the baby back to the king and his eyes turned to fire. A booming voice replaced the mocking drawl he had used before.

“Before the sun sets on his sixteenth birthday, he will pick his finger on a spinning wheel and die.” Oliver gasped at the power of the words; every syllable rang with a great terrible power he had never heard before or since. It was truth and it was terrible.

“Eobard!” gasped out the king at the same time the queen screamed “NO!” Oliver managed to break free from his bindings but before he could move, there was a blur of movement and wind. The warlock, for there could be no mistake; that’s what he was, was in front of the king once more. Oliver scrambled over to the crying prince, who was back in his cradle. He didn’t know how to hold a baby. He did the next best thing, petting his head and he placed a few fingers in the baby’s outstretched hand, which he gripped with surprising strength. Oliver looked back up his eyes search out the threat.

He saw the warlock leaning into the king his mouth moving, but Oliver unable to hear him over the din of the wind, the baby, and the added noise of fists pounding on the closed door, probably reinforcements. The warlock backed away three steps before there was a blinding light and he was gone.

The wind stopped and the soldiers burst in looking for a threat, but finding a fainted queen, a pale king, the captain of the kingsguard coming groggily to consciousness and a boy holding the happily gurgling prince.

Oliver had always wanted to be like his father, a soldier. It wasn’t until that day that Barry had been threatened that he realised that he would guard him with his life. As his father had pledged to do for the king.

Since that day, even before befriending Barry when he was old enough to play, Oliver wanted to protect him just as he did that day; just as his father did for the king. Barry needed more protection than the king, anyway. He was curious and often prone to trouble.

 

The king had handled the curse in his own way and as best as one could expect. He had searched high and low for someone to lift the curse that made his guilt a weight on his shoulders. The closest he came was someone amending the curse so that it would lead to an unnatural sleep rather than death. This wasn’t good enough.

He had burned or removed every spinning wheel in the kingdom. He had warned his son since a young age of the dangers and of his curse. Once a fever took his wife, his son was all he had. He became overprotective. His son could understand why his father had confined him to the castle, and when he got a bit older, the kingdom, escorted heavily. But Prince Bartholomew hated his stone prison. His only solace was Oliver.

Though, as the fated day came ever closer, Barry was once again confined to the castle. Something his best friend, newly turned captain of his guard enforced just as rigidly as his father did.

The day arrived, his birth date and his cursed day. He was even confined to his wing of the castle that day. Really just his room, though there was a connecting room that absolutely counted as his room were his father to ask later.

“Oliver?” Barry froze when he entered his guard’s chambers that were right next to his, and saw his guard unconscious and tied to a chair. His eyes widened and when he felt his limbs thaw he stumbled to the warrior, still feeling numb, this couldn’t be real.

“Oliver!” He focussed completely on the blonde, trying to wake him. He finally saw blue eyes crack open and blink rapidly. Barry inhaled sharply and blasted the breath out just as quickly; glad his friend was awake again. There was a slam behind him that made Barry jump and immediately whip around to find the door shut and the crossbar down.

“Finally, we get some alone time, well, in metaphorical sense, of course.” Barry head jerked back so he was facing Oliver again. There was now a man standing by Oliver, who met the stranger’s face and let out a snarl.

“You!” The man looked at Oliver searchingly and then grinned in surprise and glee. Barry looked back and forth between them in confusion.

“Who?” Barry asked his best friend.

“The man who cursed you,” Oliver ground out and he immediately began struggling with his bindings. Barry had forgotten about the restraints. He had no sooner reached behind Oliver to help him untie them than he found himself across the room. He blinked and when he started toward Oliver again, he found himself back where he was before he had taken a step and he looked up to find the warlock gripping the blonde’s hair and holding a knife to Oliver’s neck, which was unprotected by his chainmail.

“Ah-ah, I wouldn’t try that again if I were you, my little princeling. If you like his pretty head to stay attached to his fit body, you’d be doing a disservice to the whole kingdom, really.” Barry’s eyes stayed focused on the knife at Oliver’s vulnerable throat. He didn’t move an inch.

“Much better,” He sighed out as if he had just talked down a petulant child. “Isn’t it all better when we all cooperate?”

“What do you want!?” Barry demanded. His mind raced with possibilities. “Do you want to kidnap me or something, well I’m right here, leave him alone. Take me and let him go.”

“Barry, no-!” Oliver burst out, the rest of his words being choked off when his head was yanked firmly by the hand holding it and the knife bit into skin and dribbling some blood from its teeth.

“Stop!” Barry yelped as he saw the red blood disappear beneath the mail.

“Hmm, interesting, _Barry_ , I see I made the right choice,” he murmured as if to himself. He snapped back to the situation at hand and the audience, who was quite eager for the climax.

“Well, back to our discussion, before our rude interruption. I would like something from you, Barry. I am many things, but an idiot is not one of them. And while, sure, I could have made you bring about the curse magically, but where’s the fun in that?” Barry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion before smoothing out into surprise.

“Oh,” he let out a breath.

“Give the man a award! He was smart enough to figure it out on his own!” His hand ripped out of Oliver’s hair, his knife hand advancing, making Oliver’s head hit the chair back and in the process a few more lines of red joined their twins down his neck.

The warlock raised his free hand and moved it in a circular motion. A wooden machine appeared next to Barry. He had never seen one, but knew it for what it was, a spinning wheel.

“Now play your part and no one has to get hurt.” He seemed to pause in realisation. “Well, anyone else, including your man, here.”

Barry looked between the needle that glinted at him in from the orange light outside, mockingly and Oliver; his guard, his best friend, and the man he loved. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t allow anyone to hurt him. Oliver had always been the one to protect him all of his life. It was Barry’s turn to return the privilege that he had taken for granted and even complained about in the past.

“And you’ll let him go?” Barry studiously ignored Oliver. Well, for the most part he saw the look he was giving his prince on the edge of his sight. It was his I will fight and die for you right now, your life is worth ten of mine look. Barry knew he would too, but he knew that Oliver was wrong. Barry couldn’t be the cause of his demise.

“On my honour,” the warlock crossed his heart his eyes fairly glowing with anticipation. Barry looked at him sceptically. “Fine, fine, on mother’s grave, and my father’s and my grandfather’s and everyone I’ve ever known who is dead, I swear on all of their graves.” Barry didn’t really have a choice but to trust him, because he could have already killed Oliver and made Barry enact the curse magically.

“I’m here for you, my dear little prince, he is no one I care about,” he added with a scoff. Barry finally turned his eyes to Oliver again; whose eyes adamantly told him that under no uncertain terms was he allowed to do this.

“I’m sorry, Ollie,” Barry said quietly as he reached out to the needle. He felt a sharp painful prick and black flooded his senses.

“Barry-!” The dark nothingness swallowed him whole.

->->->->->->->

Oliver let out a wordless roar and with superhuman strength broke free of his bonds. He launched himself at the warlock who had twice held him prisoner and hurt the only person besides his father and sister that he had ever loved.

Eaobard was shocked at the outburst and because of that bowled over and suddenly found himself pinned down by the warrior with a knife he had failed to find on the soldier between his ribs.

“Tell him,” he rasped out between coughs of blood, “we’re even.” He gave one more horrible, bloody smile before he went limp.

Oliver panted as if he and just run three days worth of drills. He slowly lifted his head and immediately looked toward the prone form by the damn spinning wheel that he was unable to protect Barry from. He gathered up Barry into his arms. His body entirely too limp, the pulse in his neck too faint, it was barely there.

He mechanically carried him into his chambers in the next room. He must have told the king and the soldiers and his father. But he did it through a haze. All he could think about was getting back to Barry’s side. He had failed him once. Never again.

The guilt was a living monster in his gut that grew with each passing day. He barely ate, enough to sustain himself and to watch over his charge, the same could be said for sleep. He was a sentry that never left his post.

The days passed and then the weeks with no change in the prince’s condition. The king contacted the fairy that had lifted some of the curse. She claimed true love’s kiss would break the spell. What did that mean for a prince who had never been in love, at least to the knowledge of all who knew him. No one knew.

Barry always had a fondness for Oliver’s sister. She kissed him at Oliver’s request despite being sure that she wouldn’t be able to break the curse. She had been right. Barry was always getting into mischief with the advisor’s daughter. She kissed him as well and nothing changed. Maybe familial love, then? The king kissed his son every time he came to visit. It had yet to have any miraculous effect.

There was entirely too little life in his Prince. He should be laughing, he should be getting into trouble with Thea or gossiping with Iris or reading or in those boring meetings with his father that he always complained about. He should be running or sneaking out of the castle or talking nonstop. He shouldn’t be still and laying as if dead on his bed.

Oliver couldn’t stand to look at him like this and yet he couldn’t look away. Barry looked so peaceful as if he was resting and would jump up at any moment.

Barry’s father had just visited, kissing his son’s forehead as he left once again. Every time someone’s lips came near Barry, Oliver’s heart left into his throat and he hoped. Those hopes quickly crashed into his stomach and died a violent death until they were reborn again.

Oliver vaguely registered the light dimming as dusk began its nightly light show. He felt himself gravitate towards his charge, his prince, the boy he’d love since he’d first saw him. A feeling that had grown from childhood fascination into a friendship until it became crush that exploded his emotions into a supernova before settling into the deep care and love and tenderness he felt with every fibre of his heart and mind.

His hand tousled the tawny hair in a manner it had done countless times when he had been awake to groan and roll his eyes. Would he every wake? Would he ever see those sparkling eyes tease him again?

He leaned in without thinking. He was startled to realise his lips were now hovering in the air right above Barry’s. A voice in his mind whispered that it could be him; he could break the spell. His love could be enough for them both, enough to bring that smile, those eyes, his prince, his love back to him.

He flipped his brain off again and followed the instinct inside him that said to do it. To join his lips with the boy of dream’s lips, in real life this time, what was there to lose? While Barry could be lost if nothing was done. He felt hope swell and fill not just his chest, but his entire being as his decision came to him. It wasn’t really a decision at all, though, it was inevitable. It felt like something bigger and grander than himself and indeed than anything he could possibly imagine.

His lips met the prince’s and he immediately reared back up as he felt pressure respond to his own. Green eyes blinked up at him.

“Finally,” he heard that miraculous, angelic, impossible teasing voice he had missed say before his head was jerked back down and he was kissing the prince who was alive, _alive_! And once again all was right with the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, that was a close one! Before midnight my time (I meant for it to be done by 12am EST, but it just kept getting longer and longer and I couldn’t leave it without a happy ending (it is a fairytale after all). I also really wanted to add some more world-building (Joe is the king’s advisor and Iris was always around for Barry to get into trouble with along with Thea and John was Oliver’s comrade in arms) and the fight sequence was a bit rushed, but there was a deadline and I procrastinated. Maybe I’ll add to it someday.
> 
> So, this happened to be my busiest week of the summer, go figure, right? And it’s also Olivarry week (and Tony Award week) just my luck. I really want to try and get to all the prompts because I wasn’t able to last year. No promises. I really want to though. But I’m such a procrastinator that I have nothing written in advance for this week and as I said, my schedule is pretty damn full. Maybe some day I’ll be able to write, not under a time crunch, but not this week! Also, I feel a bit like a groundhog, only poking my head out for Olivarry events and then going back into my hole (i.e. real life) where I mean to write more it just doesn’t really happen. I’ll work on that.
> 
> I’m not completely caught up on Flash that’s a summer project (I am on Arrow, though), so hopefully Dr. Wells/Eobard Thawne is alright I wanted to make him more like the character on the show and not a Maleficent knock-off (too much) I wanted to make him more sociopathic, hopefully I succeeded.
> 
> I love to hear thoughts, so comments, especially are loved, and kudos too.


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